another mother's day

"Another mother's day," is how I think of the feast day of saints Helen and Constantine. This is just another mothers day blog post. Sorry.

I was looking for another one of my old expired blog posts that I’m sure still exists somewhere. Another time when I was thinking about Saint Helen finding the most precious holy cross. How she found the tree of life. How she found it and how I’ve been venerating little slivers of it for most of the decades of my life in both America and Europe, mostly America, every chance I get. We have an American Pope now and I’ve been thinking about him a lot, popes in general, quite a lot, about his mother, the church, and the virgin mother Mary. All the mothers really and what they know now about life and death. Motherhood, in some ways every day is mother’s day, some are worse than others. 

I wrote this on the actual feast day of saints Helen and Constantine (according to my church) but I’m just now getting around to actually posting it. There was one year where I just stared at the wall for hours. (everyday for a year or just on Mother’s day? Perhaps.) Maybe. Europe remains named after the mythical-earthy princess consort of Jupiter basically. Every king I can think of has a mother. I’ve been surrounded by her daughters because each one is a different phase of the moon. (Allegedly.)

This is all some pretty ancient stuff. People have been thinking about these sorts of things for many months, many moons, ages, etc I trust the gospel truth of what happened and how that translates into all the purities expressed through every moment of motherhood. It makes sense that another mother, named after the shining light of the truth. The bright warmth of the one true light of God, Helen, would have found the nails, the cross, and the name of god written down.